


Engines

by gypsyweaver



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Clueless Gabriel (Good Omens), Heaven is Not Nice, Heavy Angst, Hell, Hell is Not Nice, Horror, Implied Cheerful Nihilism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Kansas, Kissing, Multi, New Orleans, No Smut, Other, POV Beelzebub (Good Omens), Psychological Horror, She/Her Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), Soft Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Yes I'm shocked too, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Prince Beelzebub is no idiot, and figures out pretty quickly how the Ineffable Husbands managed to trick them. Forbidden from seeking revenge, they end up at Decadence in New Orleans. Eventually, Gabriel wants a meeting.Gabriel is an idiot, still thinking that Heaven had a chance in the upcoming war. Well, that's a problem that the Lord of the Flies CAN solve.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Dagon (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 60





	1. Infernal Devices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makewavesandwar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makewavesandwar/gifts), [Melibe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/gifts).



Hell, 10:45 AM, the Day of Judgment for the Traitors

“The angel survived, m’lord,” Erik said calmly.

“He what, now?” Beelzebub asked. They were holding Dagon’s trembling hands.

Crowley had already swaggered off. Michael had returned, shaken, to the lift.

Hastur was pacing the room. He stopped and stared at Erik, who had just entered the death chamber.

“He survived,” said Erik. “He breathed Hellfire at the other angels!”

“Hellfire, huh?” said Beelzebub, quirking an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”

Beelzebub kissed Dagon on one scaly cheek and lowered her down into their throne. Dagon, second-in-command of Beelzebub’s forces, was the only one allowed to sit there besides themself, and often did in the absence of Beelzebub.

Now she was sitting there because it was preferable to her collapsing.

Beelzebub took back their hands. They slipped a sleek black Imp from an interior jacket pocket. The display lit up.

“Yes, m’lord?” the little device chirped.

“Search. Crawly. Miracles.”

“File found.”

“Last entry?”

“Ten hundred and thirty three. Hellfire.”

“FUCK!” Dagon spat. “That’s how they did it!”

Beelzebub turned, cupping her cheek with one hand. Their thumb dragged gently over her scales, admiring the way the low light danced over them.

“I’ll go tell Lucifer,” they told her. “We’ll get you your war.”

“You’d better,” Hastur said, darkly. “Because there ain’t no way Flappy, Slappy, Crappy, and Sappy are gonna let us jus’ go on.”

Gabriel, Sandalphon, Michael, and Uriel. Flappy, Slappy, Crappy, and Sappy.

“We’ve still got shock troops ready. Not to mention the weapons,” Beelzebub said. “I haven’t been ordered to decommission yet. Let me speak to Lucifer.”

Beelzebub brushed Dagon’s lips with their own, tasting the salt of her tears mixing with the salt of her mouth.

“My lord,” Dagon said, softly. Her arms wrapped around Beelzebub’s neck. “Thank you.”

“I’m coming back here. Hastur, Dagon, calm the troops. Make sure that they’re waiting for orders.”

Hastur nodded, and Dagon stood up. Her faith was renewed, and that was a good thing to see. Beelzebub left the chamber, heading for the lifts. They were going down.

~*~

Beelzebub stepped back into the death chamber. The demon looked pale, wan. Excepting the bleeding bruise over one eye.

“What did he say?” Dagon asked. Her concerned fingers went to Beelzebub’s eye.

Beelzebub captured her hand, and kissed the knuckles. Hastur’s stare was blank, and suddenly defeated. He slumped against the wall, forehead touching his knees.

“War’s off. Indefinitely,” Beelzebub said, with a shrug. “Lucifer doesn’t want me confirming my theory with the Archangel. Told me to decommission the weapons. To stand down...I am so sorry, Dagon.”

“Does he really think that _they’re_ going to stand down?” Dagon asked. Her voice was nearly hysterical.

Beelzebub hugged her to themself. “I think they will.”

“That pigeon’s made you soft,” Hastur said.

Beelzebub glared at him over Dagon’s shoulder. Hastur was still in a ball against the wall, in a place where no glare was going to reach him.

“I still have to speak to that pigeon,” Beelzebub said. “I’ll find out what they’re doing.”

“Don’t go. Please,” Dagon asked, their nails digging into Beelzebub’s lapels. “Not now, please. Don’t go to him.”

Beelzebub stroked Dagon’s hair. “No, there’s nothing that wouldn’t wait. Honestly.”

“Well, what’s the rest of it?” Hastur asked. “I’m gonna guess he gave you a little kiss with his fist for some reason.”

“I persisted,” Beelzebub said, with a shrug. “What? I’m not stupid enough to think that just because one angel says they’re standing down, that means that they all will. Even if it was an Archangel. I argued for war. For our safety.”

“So he popped you in the face?”

“Eventually,” Beelzebub agreed. “Three quarters of the horsemen are gone. Not discorporated, gone. The Antichrist, who could do anything, went and made himself mortal. We’re to leave the traitors alone,” Beelzebub said. “If you want to join Ligur, that’d be the fastest way.”

“Urgh...” Hastur gurgled. “Why leave the traitors alone?”

“Even if they switched corporations and tricked us, they’re still part of the Ineffable. They’re off-limits, and Lucifer’s probably going to mope over his lost child for the next two hundred years...” Beelzebub paused. “War’s off.”

“What now?” Dagon asked. Her voice was fragile.

“I have to address the troops. War called off on account of Ineffability. And, if they want to be able to continue to use miracles, they’d best get back to work. Hastur, you’re on leave until you don’t want to be anymore,” Beelzebub said. “Paid, of course.”

“What’s the use, if I’ve got to leave off on the ones what killed my Ligur?”

Beelzebub stared at the demon who leaked tears from his wide black eyes. They had performed the ceremony for Hastur and Ligur, eons ago. The two lovesick fools had woven crowns out of flowers for each other. Laughing like children, under a full moon, near a still pool. Both in their finest. It had been a well-attended event. The newlywed demons danced the wedding dance, together, kissing every two or three steps.

Hastur looked like a crumpled paper bag without Ligur. Empty.

Dagon was clinging to them. Hard. She was terrified, and with good reason.

“They’ll stand down,” Beelzebub said, softly, to Dagon, who gaped like the fish that she was. They stroked her cheeks. “Lovely, I said that I would keep you safe. I have never _not_ kept you safe.”

“See how that worked out for Ligur,” Hastur spat. He rolled onto his feet. “I’m off then. I’m gonna go punch something that bleeds. Not a fucking traitor, I swear.”

“Take it upstairs. The demon are going to be upset enough.”

“Aye, m’lord. M’fish.”

Hastur stormed off, toward the lifts.

Erik still trembled in a corner. “Erik,” Beelzebub said. “You did well. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Erik left.

Alone in the death chamber, Beelzebub pulled Dagon down onto their throne with them. “After I calm the troops...did you want to do something?”

“What did you have in mind?” Dagon asked.

Beelzebub gave Dagon a wicked look. “Decadence is on.”

“Yes...” Dagon said, with her first genuine grin since “Crowley” had failed to dissolve in a bath of Holy Water. “Yes, m’lord.”

“I’ll meet you at the lifts. Give me an hour.”

They kissed her, a deep one, feeling her body relax as they stroked her tongue with their own. A hand at the back of her neck, and another stroking the swell of her breast through her clothes. Dagon sighed.

“Let’s forget for a while, _nu_?” Beelzebub said.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Wear something nice,” Beelzebub said, moving their lips to Dagon’s neck. Her cravat tickled Beelzebub’s face. Dagon’s fingers went to the back of Beelzebub’s head, running through their hair. A few flies flitted and took wing, annoyed at being disturbed. “I’ve got to go disappoint the troops.”

Dagon stood up and offered a hand to the Prince, who took it. They stood up, and Dagon straightened their regalia for them.

“My prince,” she said, bowed, and left the room.

It was as close as she’d ever get to “I love you,” which is a sad fact that Beelzebub had accepted around the same time as they’d married Hastur and Ligur. They’d never pushed, just longed in a soft way. Longed for something warmer than the occasional snog.

But Dagon was happy with a few kisses, a few bolder touches, and the protection of a Prince of Hell.

Beelzebub stood alone in the death chamber, somewhere between crying and screaming. God knows, and Satan certainly did not, that they never wanted a war. Never wanted to watch Dagon bleed out in their arms.

No such thing as a war without casualties, and why would God give Beelzebub even the occasional kindness from Dagon unless She planned to rip that away?

And the less they thought about the Archangel, the better.

They crossed to the door, pausing at the mirrored glass behind the bathtub to heal their eye. They looked fine. Time to address the troops.

~*~

The troops took it all in stride, Beelzebub thought. They’d finished up their speech by reminding the demons that every soul that they stole from Heaven was a victory. Every soul that went to Hell made Heaven less powerful. That was their war, now. And they’d bleed the angels dry, just like that.

They’d cheered. It was weak, but it was a cheer.

They’d run by their quarters, to get ready. They’d dressed like a woman. Not their usual choice, but one dressed for effect at Decadence.

The hem of their sequined gown whispered over the aged tile floor of Hell as they clicked to the lifts in their very high heels. The gown was a deep, dark red at the high neck, and faded to black at the bottom. Beelzebub liked the weight of it. The whole thing was held on by a heavy metal clasp at the back of their neck.

Dagon was waiting at the lifts. Beelzebub had been expecting a nicely tailored suit. Instead, Dagon was dazzling in a mermaid-cut gown. It glimmered dangerously under the sickly light of the fluorescent bulbs.

Her hair was curled and hung loose over her creamy shoulders. More of her scales showed, iridescent against the black of her gown.

“Beautiful,” Beelzebub said, and meant it. They kissed her cheek when she leaned down for them.

“Likewise,” Dagon said.

They stepped into the lift, hand in hand, headed for the sweaty New Orleans night.


	2. Heavy Fuel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Mention of previous gang rape. Trauma. LBGTQ-based trauma.

New Orleans, Past Midnight

Dagon had cried until she ran out of tears, and Beelzebub brought the poor fishy home to get some sleep. She’d wanted the war. Wanted revenge for what happened to her during the First War.

Beelzebub did not want to kill. Did not want to die, nor watch anyone else die. The choking smell of battle, the feeling of angels and demons dying, always seemed to be on the fringe of the demon's mind. They hadn’t slept much in the last twenty years. Sleep always seemed to bring them back to the first battle. To meeting Dagon in a muddy field. To the place where she lay dying, and they were still Falling.

They remembered pulling Dagon, then just some nameless angel of Heaven’s steno pool, out of the blood-streaked mud that she’d been left in. They remembered shrinking her barely-living corporation down, and putting her in the satchel that they’d stolen off of a discorporated angel. They were collecting the broken Fallen. They remembered carrying her to the relative safety of Hell.

They remembered the healings after. Dagon was nearly discorporated by the angels who assaulted her. Angels who never Fell for what they did.

Healing. Dagon’s body recovered from what the angels had done. But nobody could ever heal her mind nor soul. Beelzebub promised over and over that they would be punished. That was as close as anyone could get to soothing Dagon’s wrath and pain.

On Judgment Day, the demons would be doing the judging. Beelzebub had promised.

Beelzebub had managed to escape Dagon’s fate by sheer luck. The angels that they’d fought and defeated were not rapists. And they’d managed to avoid the other Archangels.

There was nothing to be done about the past.

Decadence was usually great fun. Necking in a dark bar, drinking past all wisdom. Waiting for some mortal to lust after them. Or for a street preacher to become wroth.

But Dagon’s heart wasn’t really in it.

A teenaged girl had snuck into the bar that they had chosen. The child, with a soul of sunlight and sweet spring breezes, saw the two of them at it. Her longing was so palpable. She had discovered herself in them, in the two elegant women who burned darkly in a corner together. She wanted, needed, a thing she’d never really considered until she saw it.

Dagon felt the child’s ache, and that was the end of their evening. Dagon knew what she’d Fallen for. Something so arbitrary. A refusal to change her desires or her corporation to fit what God had decided was proper.

For that reason, the angels had sought her out on the battlefield. They had nearly killed Dagon in a misguided attempt to force her into God’s plan.

Dagon looked at the child with haunted eyes, eyes that read her whole painful future, and started crying. Then sobbing. Beelzebub had never seen her in this kind of shape. Not since the first war, when she woke up and had to make sense of what had happened to her and why.

“We’ll never be safe,” she sobbed, into Beelzebub’s chest. “Never, never. We were supposed to win!”

Beelzebub carried her home, to her quarters, and put her to bed. They healed out the worst of the booze, and tucked her in. Beelzebub laid a soft kiss on her forehead, blessing her with a deep and dreamless sleep.

Then, the Lord of the Flies left her.

Beelzebub returned to Earth for the really heavy drinking. Feelings were messy, and alcohol was pure. So, Beelzebub went with that.

The bodies stacked up. The mortals saw a slim, slight girl, and thought Beelzebub was a soft mark. Drinking contest after drinking contest. Some staggered away, some passed out, every one of them paid the tab.

They were the Prince of Gluttony and a healer, besides. They could do this for days.

Their Imp buzzed. The display lit up, and Beelzebub flicked the screen with one manicured fingernail.

The Archangel. Just one word.

“Meeting?”

Best to get this done with, Beelzebub thought. They typed their coordinates by way of reply, and cleared away the empty bottles and unconscious mortals.

The Archangel did not dally. Frankly, the look on his face when he saw the place was perfect. It was better when he smelled the bar. Booze, sweat, puke, and sex. Beelzebub smiled behind their drink at the Archangel’s disgust.

Two very tall, very well-cut young men stepped up to Gabriel as he entered the bar. They gave him a slow, appreciative up-and-down, probably making him for one of the street preachers who ran around with signs in their hands and hate in their hearts.

The two men were leaving and Gabriel was entering. As New Orleans never really understood code compliance, the very narrow doorway made for an obstacle that the two drunk revelers were incapable of negotiating. Especially since the Archangel (very unaccustomed to bars, to New Orleans, and to bars in New Orleans) was too busy wrapping his feathery brain around the nearly naked men gyrating with each other, the women practically fingering each other in the booths, and the people of every sex dancing and drinking themselves to joy and eventual unconsciousness.

The poor Archangel had not realized that he was blocking the way.

It took a moment, but the drunks eventually noticed that Gabriel was not moving, and decided to talk to him instead of leaving.

The one who wore leather straps crossed over his chest said to the one in tulle with light-up springy rainbows on his head, “Oh, honey...I’d love to get THAT out of his suit.”

The disgusted grimace left Gabriel’s face to be replaced by a look of sheer surprise when he realized that the men were talking about him.

Beelzebub laughed into their hand. How often did the Archangel meet people who were bigger and taller than he was? The Lord of the Flies miracled themselves a fresh Mudslide and sipped, watching the scene at the door.

“Calm down, sweetie,” said Springy Rainbows. “He don’t bite...much.”

He cackled and his friend laid a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, guiding him gently into the bar and out of their way. Gabriel, for some reason allowed it.

“Happy Decadence,” Leather Straps said. “I hope your boyfriend gives awesome head, and if he doesn’t, we’d be happy to provide that service for you, sugar.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” said Gabriel, sounding as if they’d asked him if he wanted to eat. Shocked and disgusted, all at once.

“Are you lonely, honey?”

“That’s a strange question,” Gabriel said, but he actually seemed to be giving it some thought. “I suppose I am. I mean, it’s not easy being on the top.”

“Are you a top?” asked Leather Straps.

“I suppose I am,” Gabriel replied, brightly.

“Oh, honey,” Springy Rainbows crooned. “And no boyfriend?”

“I have...a friend. Oh, that’s them,” he said, pointing.

He actually pointed.

Beelzebub obliged him with a gentle wave, making eye contact over the rim of their Mudslide.

Leather Straps whistled, low. “That is an ice cold bitch, honey. That bitch looks like she’d scratch our eyes out for talking to you.”

“They’re a ‘they’, actually. Not a ‘she’,” Gabriel said, with a winning smile. “And...for just talking to me? I don’t think so, but they don’t like being kept waiting, so I’m going to have to say goodnight to you two. And, well, bless you in the light of the Father.”

Both of the mortals felt the Archangel’s blessing. It was nothing Beelzebub had ever experienced, but they knew that it supposed to be a warm feeling. Tender, like the chest swell of a little child receiving a gentle kiss from their loving mother. Both men looked about ready to cry.

“G’night,” managed Leather Straps. He took Springy Rainbow’s hand, and the two of them left the bar. Both were smiling.

Gabriel walked, briskly to the corner booth occupied by the Lord of the Flies. “Good evening,” he said, seating himself. His wards went up around Beelzebub’s own. The colorful, inebriated mortals of the bar ignored them. “You look...”

They’d never had occasion to dress up for a meeting with the Archangel, but the effect was enough to make Beelzebub consider doing it more often in the future.

“I know how I look, Archangel,” said the Prince, briskly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, I don’t partake,” he said.

“Hell, why not?”

“I don’t sully my body with gross matter,” he explained, cheerfully. The explanation felt canned. Like he’d given it before, which he had. Many times. To Beelzebub.

“How is this gross matter?” Beelzebub asked. If he wanted a meeting, why not try a light temptation?

“It’s from...Earth,” he said.

The disgust in his voice was painful to Beelzebub. They rolled their eyes. “Who made us?”

“God.”

“Right. And who made the Earth?”

“God. Oh. But it’s not the same.”

“It is EXACTLY the same. It’s the same stuff that makes the stars in the sky and sand at the beach. The air that you’re breathing right now. Carbon. Hydrogen. Nitrogen. It’s all just different combinations.”

“I...never thought about it that way,” the angel said, with a slight, golden flush that crept prettily into his cheeks. “I guess there’s no harm in trying, then?”

“I think you ought to experience something of the world,” Beelzebub said, miracling the angel a White Russian. “You’re afraid to Fall, _nu_?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Aziraphale is, without a doubt, the biggest glutton that Heaven ever spawned. _I_ would _know_. And he never Fell,” Beelzebub said. “You should know what you’re being sent to destroy, don’t you think?”

“I like being able to be objective about these things,” Gabriel said, but he still tried the drink. “Oh...this is good.”

“You should be allowed to enjoy things,” Beelzebub said.

“What’re you doing here, anyways?” Gabriel asked. “What is this? Some kind of festival?”

“This is Decadence, Archangel. It’s practically a festival dedicated to me. Every excess indulged.” Beelzebub took another sip of their drink, licked their sin red lips, and noted the way that Gabriel watched their mouth.

Did he even know what he wanted from them? Did he even have the words? And, if he asked, would Beelzebub give him what he wanted?

Oh, probably. They were lonely. It wasn’t any easier to be on the bottom than it was to be on the top.

They could justify it as a temptation all that they wanted, but they’d never been particularly good at lying to themself. They appreciated the Archangel as much as he appreciated them, and it wasn’t just physical. He’d gotten to them over the years. Insipid jokes and silly propriety and guileless condescension and all. Something about him warmed the demon, and Hell was a place that lacked warmth.

“So...it’s just back to business as usual for you?” Gabriel asked, waving a hand around at the rainbow-hued festival-goers.

“Yes. Isn’t it for you?”

“The others went back to work. They were disappointed, but...”

“Same.”

Beelzebub licked a line of escaped sugar and booze off of the heel of their hand. Gabriel’s pupils dilated as he watched them. Beelzebub had never seen him quite like this. But now, he didn’t have a war to distract him.

Interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are food for the soul of a writer.


	3. Deus ex Machina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of the traitors, the would-be Apocalypse, and the grind towards the war that was not.

Beelzebub doubted that Gabriel would be able to maintain anything approaching professionalism, especially when the alcohol hit him.

Best to get the meeting part over.

“So, Decadence. That’s why I’m here. What brings you out of Heaven, Archangel?” Beelzebub asked, running a finger around the rim of their glass.

“Oh, uh...just wondering if you have any idea how the traitors managed to elude their punishments?”

“Yes, actually,” Beelzebub said, surprised. “You don’t know?”

“No. You do?”

“Not positively. I’d have to compare notes with you to be certain, of course. I did take my theory to Lucifer, and he agrees with me. But the Apocalypse is still off.”

“But why?” Gabriel asked, with a note of petulance to his voice.

Beelzebub managed to look hurt. “Archangel, why are you in such a hurry to kill me?”

“Kill you? No...no...I wouldn’t kill you. C’mon Beez, give me some credit!”

He took a deeper drink from the square tumbler, and Beelzebub didn’t wince at the diminutive. They used to, but he’d managed to make it endearing over the years.

“I’d never kill you,” he finished, setting his glass down.

“What were you planning on doing with me then, after?” They uncrossed and recrossed their legs, giving the Archangel the opportunity to notice that their slinky black dress was slit to the thigh.

He noticed.

“Oh, well, not that it matters anymore...” Gabriel said. “But we were going to capture as many of you as we could. See if we could reverse the Fall, somehow.”

“Hmm...captured by angels and experimented on...forgive me if I don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about that plan.”

“I think we would have found a way, eventually,” Gabriel said. “Why wouldn’t you want to be an angel again?”

“Just an angel. Why the demotion?” Beelzebub asked, playfully.

“Wait, you were an Archangel? Really?”

“Yes, I was,” Beelzebub said. “Don’t feel bad that you don’t remember, Archangel. Six thousand years is a very long time.”

“What was your old name?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s compare some notes, then? Test my theory?”

“Sure. Fine.”

Gabriel was silent as Beelzebub flicked through their Imp. Eventually they found the file that they needed, and the entry that they were looking for.

“Tell me, Gabriel,” Beelzebub said, already knowing the answer. “Did Aziraphale, at any point in his trial, breathe Hellfire?”

“Uh, yeah. He did. Why?”

“I have an infernal miracle, ten hundred and thirty-three hours this morning, from the demon Crawly. Hellfire.”

“What? How?”

“I think that they switched bodies.”

“They switched bodies? Is that even possible?”

“Seems so. But the Apocalypse is still off, and Lucifer doesn’t want us interfering with the traitors.”

“Oh,” said Gabriel.

His voice seemed to come from very far off, and he drained the rest of his tumbler. Beelzebub reached a manicured finger across the table, touching the rim of the glass. It refilled.

“How’d you figure it out?” he asked, taking a deep drink.

“Erik told me that the traitor angel had breathed Hellfire at his trial,” Beelzebub explained. “I realized that Crowley hadn’t used any miracles. That’s a strange thing, Archangel. He’d just taken a bath in Holy Water--which, even if it didn’t dissolve him--it’s still water. Ever been to the Basement, Gabriel?”

“No...we meet on Earth...usually someplace...nicer...”

“You called me and I was here,” Beelzebub said. “You’re not happy?” They dragged their instep over the back of his shin, and he blushed.

“I, uh, this is fine. Really.”

“Drink. It helps,” Beelzebub said, reaching across the small table and putting the tumbler back into Gabriel’s hands. “Anyways, miracles. Crowley didn’t use any. He’s a snake. Like I’m a swarm of flies. Right?”

“Okay.”

“I asked you if you’ve ever been to Hell. It’s cold there, not hot. Mortals assume it’s hot. It’s not. There is a lake of fire, but it burns cold. The whole place is cold and damp.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Oh, it is,” Beelzebub agreed. “And Crowley is a snake. A cold-blooded creature. Now, after a dunk in Holy Water, he's a damp snake, _nu_?”

“A damp snake...” Gabriel agreed.

“A damp, cold snake. A sleepy snake. He wouldn’t have made it to the lift with just a miracled towel,” the demon said, stirring their drink with a finger. They licked it clean, making eye contact. The Archangel was flushed with need and with booze. Beelzebub wondered how he was still capable of thinking. Maybe he wasn’t. They were doing most of the talking. “At very least, Crowley would have been uncomfortable. Miracles are easy for us. It would have been nothing for a demon.”

“But he didn’t,” Gabriel said. “He didn’t...because he was Aziraphale, and we would have noticed...we keep track of those things.”

“Right in one. Oh, and we would have noticed an ethereal miracle in Hell, of course,” Beelzebub said. “I know that it’s possible to switch corporations. Never tried it angel-to-demon, but we’re of the same stock. It would work, in theory.”

“No way! Our natures are opposed. We’d explode or something.”

“Spoken like someone who knows nothing about the subject. You’re a killer, not a healer. So believe me when I tell you, it should work.”

“You’re...a healer?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed! Did you know Raphael?”

“Yes, of course I did,” Beelzebub said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy with how I turned out if you lot were allowed to remember.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub knocked back the last of their Mudslide. “Back to the subject at hand. We know how they did it. But the Apocalypse is still canceled. On account of the missing Horsemen and the Antichrist using his abilities to make himself mortal.”

“Fuck.”

“Why so glum, Archangel?” Beelzebub asked. “So eager to fight me? I would not have come quietly, so you and your friends could try and find a work-around for Her divine justice.”

“So we what?”

“If you managed to cause one of us to Rise, if that’s even possible--that’s going directly against the Word of God.”

“But...we’d be doing good?”

“Don’t you know what paves the road to Hell, Gabriel?”

The Archangel deflated. He looked miserable, and Beelzebub slid across the seat. Slowly, letting him watch the material of their dress move over their skin.

Temptation was purer than alcohol, Beelzebub decided. Why not? He was halfway in their bed at this point.

The booth was round, and they eventually settled themselves right beside the Archangel. Gabriel’s breath slowed and deepened with proximity to them.

“Cheer up, Archangel. You wouldn’t have won, anyways,” they said.

“What?” Gabriel asked, stunned. “We absolutely would have won. We have the power of the Almighty behind us!”

“Do you?”

“Well, of course! We’re _angels_.”

“You sweet, stupid dolt,” Beelzebub said, with an unexpected warmth to their voice. They looped an arm around Gabriel’s. The touch startled him. And he flushed again.

Pretty.

“Angel,” they began, “you’re outnumbered this time, and we ALMOST won last time--when we were outnumbered two to one. That’s your first problem. Your second problem is that you were the primary target of our first assault.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Stormbringer,” Beelzebub said, leaning on the angel’s shoulder. He stopped breathing. “I did not want to have to deal with a rainstorm of Holy Water. I wanted you out of the sky, and fast.” They reached up, running the back of their hand across his cheek. “Breathe, Archangel.”

Gabriel did, and finished his drink. “What are you doing to me? What’s in this drink?”

“I didn’t drug you,” Beelzebub said, flatly. “Anyways, you started this.”

“I did?”

“All those meetings, where you’d just squeeze a shoulder or poke me in the chest?” Beelzebub said, innocently. “I thought you enjoyed physical contact. Do you want me to stop?”

“No...” he said weakly.

Beelzebub refilled his glass before crawling into his lap, straddling him. His hands went around them, stroking their naked back with his fingertips. That felt nice.

“War’s off, Archangel,” they said. “Are we still enemies?”

“I think so. Technically.”

“Do I feel like an enemy?”

“You were...you said that I was your primary target...”

“You were,” their hands went to his face, stroking his cheeks, tracing his jawbone.

“You would have killed me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Beelzebub admitted. “I wanted you out of the sky. Not dead.”

“So, what then? Gonna force me to Fall?”

“Falling is a choice. Always,” they replied. “The problem is that it’s a choice you don’t always know that you’re making.”

“Beez...” he said miserably.

“Stop,” they replied, lowering their lips to his. He kissed back, but his heart wasn’t in it, not anymore than Dagon’s had been. “I would have found somewhere to hide you, Gabriel. I wasn’t going to let them eat you.”

“Eat me...?”

“End of War Banquet. Angel was to be on the menu, not my idea. Dagon’s, actually.” Beelzebub paused. “After we discorporated them, we’d probably play with them for a bit before introducing them to the Soul Engine.”

“The what, now?”

“Oh, I think they call it the ‘Celestial Choir’ in Heaven.”

“So we’d be forced to, what, worship Lucifer, then?”

“Worship...Lucifer? What?” Beelzebub laughed. “Are you serious?”

Gabriel looked up at them.

“Oh, you are. You really don’t know...”

“What don’t I...don’ I...don’ I know?” Gabriel asked.

The second White Russian was stronger than the first and the third was stronger still, but Gabriel hadn’t noticed. It showed up in his speech.

Unfortunately, Beelzebub wanted him good and sober for this one.

One last kiss, deep and true. He held them so close, and he was so warm. They could feel tears on their cheeks when they broke the kiss.

They laid a gentle hand on his chest and the alcohol in his blood went to the glass. Tempting Gabriel felt like tempting a little child. It had lost its appeal.

Explaining the way of the world, well, that’s what one does with little children.

“I want to show you some things,” Beelzebub said. “Come with me?”

Gabriel had stopped breathing again.

Beelzebub rolled their eyes, “Hell’s bells. I solemnly swear by Lucifer Lightbringer, the Endless Night, that I, Prince Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, will not willingly nor knowingly attempt any harm upon the person, spirit, nor property of the Archangel Gabriel so long as he remains under my charge in New Orleans, in Kansas, and in Hell.”

They brushed his lips, tasting the last creamy drops of his (now virgin) White Russian.

The contract sealed between them.

“Happy?” they asked.

Gabriel breathed in order to speak. “Yes. Very.”

“Good, come on.” Beelzebub stepped off of his lap and out of the booth.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Kansas.” They took his hand and pulled him along, out of the bar, and into the street. They used their other hand to send him the coordinates by Imp. “I’ll meet you there.”

Beelzebub dissolved into a cloud of insects, and flew away. Gabriel caused a front-page article in the Times-Picayune with an incredibly precise lightning strike outside of a popular nightclub in the middle of the French Quarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments warm my black little heart!


	4. Machines of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel realizes that Heaven was woefully unprepared for war.

Rural Kansas, Witching Hour

The golden wheat fields were silent in the dark. Unmoving, as there was no breeze. The place smelled like fertilizer and the earth. Beelzebub flew as a swarm to the front doors of the large warehouse at the end of a dirt road. They were off of a state highway, in the middle of nowhere. The demon’s clothes were not practical for this venture, so they changed with a miracle. Work clothes, denim and flannel. Heavy boots. They ran their hand through the perfect bob that they’d had their hair in, and the locks fell to the ground, flared, burned, and disappeared. They plopped a wide-brimmed hat over their buzz cut.

Gabriel arrived shortly after, looking around at the great expanse of nothing with confusion.

“Beez?”

“I’m here,” Beelzebub said, stepping out into the moonlight. “All of this is about to be decommissioned and scrapped, so I can show you.”

“Where are we?”

“A wheat field in Kansas,” Beelzebub said. “This is my special project.”

They opened the double doors of the warehouse and turned the lights on with a miracle. The doors opened huge, and bank after bank of fluorescent light flickered on.

They gleamed in the light. Two rows of them, some sixty in total. Armored and waterproof. Built by mortals, without any infernal parts that would dissolve in Holy Water. Cages over the driver’s cabs, to protect them from swords and ballistics. The blades in front gleamed menacingly, even in their silence. All of them were painted black, with Beelzebub’s sigil on the doors.

“What...are they?”

“Combines,” Beelzebub replied. “This is one warehouse. I have many.”

“What do they do...?”

“They’re for harvesting,” they explained. “We call them ‘Reapers’. Those blades can mangle a car in a few seconds. More than enough to mince hundreds of angels. Better yet? They can be piloted by humans or nephilim.”

“You...had nephilim troops?”

“Yes, that was Asmodeus’ special project. We have thousands.”

“THOUSANDS?” Gabriel gasped. “Wait...Did you...?”

Beelzebub scoffed. “Absolutely not. This world was going to end. I would never, never put something as precious as a child on this planet.” They paused. “Anyways, I remember what happened to the Watchers and their families. I’m not going to put any child of mine in front of your sword.”

Gabriel nodded. “Well, that makes sense.”

“Archangel, you must think me an incredibly cruel person, or just a fool.”

“No, no. Beez, no,” Gabriel said, with the that pinched look that he usually got when he’d introduced his fine Italian loafers to his mouth. “I didn’t know if they...made you.”

“That’s...fair. No, I wasn’t forced. Asmodeus thought it was a great waste...any child of mine would have been an asset...” Beelzebub looked down at their boots. “I’m not so far gone that I would...that I even _could_ think of a child--my child--as an asset in war.”

“I didn’t think they’d give you a choice.”

“Everything in Hell is a choice, Gabriel. Everything,” the demon said, levelly. “It may be a zero sum game, but there is always a choice. The alternative may be destruction, but there is always a choice. I would have chosen destruction, if it matters.”

“It matters,” Gabriel said. “It fucking matters, Beez.”

They stood apart, in an awkward silence. Beelzebub felt deflated, wondering why they were showing the Archangel their work. They certainly didn’t expect approval. No, they feared for him. Blindly following God. Blindly trusting a creature who tested and tested and tested things into dust.

As they had been tested. They took a deep breath and continued.

“They made thousands of nephilim, which have now been...decommissioned. Asmodeus is going to track them all down, and frankly he’s going to be kinder than a sword in the dark,” Beelzebub said. Their voice was soft, and their pain radiated out, should the angel choose to feel it. “And we had so many humans. They’re standing down. Not decommissioned.”

“Wait, you had HUMANS?”

“Many, many humans,” Beelzebub confirmed. ”Satanic priests, nuns, and simple adherents. They believed in the cause, in the world that the Antichrist would build for the ones who survived. Humans who were willing to fight the will of God. You didn’t have humans? Clergy, at least?”

“No! Not combat ready!” Gabriel exclaimed. “What could a HUMAN even DO against us?”

“First of all, a lot of you have been discorporated by humans over the millennia, Archangel,” Beelzebub replied, glancing at their still-manicured fingernails. “What could they do? Well, Hellfire doesn’t harm humans any worse than regular fire. Same as Holy Water, _nu_?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can drown a human in Holy Water, right?”

“WHAT?”

“In theory, in theory. Calm down, Archangel.” Beelzebub closed the space between them and laid a gentle hand on his bicep. “In theory, you can drown a mortal in Holy Water, yes?”

“I guess. We would never--“

“I know. That’s not my point.”

“What IS your point?” Gabriel asked, glaring at the small hand on his sleeve.

“Hellfire is the same. It burns humans like regular fire. It doesn’t burn them the way it burns angels. My point is...” the demon smirked wickedly up at the angel, leaning deep into his personal space, to the point that Gabriel took a step back. Beelzebub advanced, enjoying the angel’s fear. “Our human troops were armed with Molotov cocktails and flamethrowers of Hellfire.”

“Oh. Fuck. That’s really scary, Beez.”

“You would have spent the whole war in my satchel,” they said, with a casual eyeroll. “Come, Archangel, look at what I made to kill all of your friends. These are my special Reapers.” Beelzebub stepped back to the line of Reapers, and gently stroked the nearest one. “They require two to operate them. This one is Dagon’s. See these nozzles?”

“Yeah?”

“While the human or nephilim pilots these Reapers, a demon can spew Hellfire out of here.”

“We don’t have any defense against that!” Gabriel said, with shock. “We were coming down here with SWORDS!”

“Swords...and miracles, of course.”

“Well, yeah!”

“That’s why I was supposed to get you out of the sky.”

“You? Personally?” Gabriel said, with a slight flinch. “Do these things fly?”

“No, but I do,” Beelzebub said, turning into a swarm. “Mosquitoes are flies, too. Take enough of your blood, and no more Holy Water rain.”

“I wasn’t even planning on doing that,” Gabriel said, blushing sheepishly as the Lord of the Flies reformed.

“So, what? Just...swords...?”

“Yep,” Gabriel said, popping the ‘p’. “I think we might’ve lost...”

“You think?” Beelzebub said, leaning against Dagon’s Reaper.

“Yeah,” the angel said, missing the sarcasm in Beelzebub’s response. “I don’t know why the Divine Plan would call for us to lose...”

“The Ineffable Plan apparently didn’t call for us to fight at all, if that makes you feel better,” Beelzebub said, stepping away from their Reaper and moving towards the Archangel. “There’s more, if you want to see it.”

“More war machines?”

“No, I wasn’t going to show you those. It’s more of the same really, with some stolen MIGs and other aircraft.”

“Aircraft? You have aircraft?”

“I have thirteen cargo planes that we named the ‘Sky Yaks’ that are all full of jars of Hellfire. We had some nephilim who were supposed to fly them over the killing fields, and the Eriks were going to launch the jars into the fray.”

“Eriks?”

“Erik brought you Hellfire, _nu_? He can make many copies of himself. Very good for missions like this.”

“Oh.”

“I want to show you what would have happened to the survivors. Do you trust me?”

“You’re a demon, so no?”

“You’re all alone with me in a warehouse in Kansas, middle of nowhere. If I wanted you discorporated or destroyed, you would be.”

“Okay, that was not smart on my part...but why haven’t you destroyed me, Beelzebub?”

“I don’t want to,” Beelzebub said. “I never wanted this war, but if it was going to happen, then we were going to win.”

“You didn’t want the war?”

“No.”

Gabriel looked around at the shiny machines of demonic destruction. “Sure doesn’t seem that way, Beez.”

“Do you remember the First War?”

“Yeah.”

“It was awful.”

“Well, yeah, You lost, I mean.”

“I Fell during the war.”

“During? But why?”

“I refused to fight my brothers and sisters in the First War, and God cast me down for it.”

“Well, that’s disobedience, Beez.”

“I was a healer. She told me that I was never supposed to harm my siblings, and then...” The tears rose up and Beelzebub forced them back down. “She changed Her mind. I thought it was a test. How would I know, Gabriel? How would I know?”

“You made a choice that you didn’t know you were making,” he said, his eyes wide with awe. “You Fell to protect us.”

“All of this? All of the killing machines? This is my punishment, Gabriel. I’ve spent the last six millennia preparing for a war that I _never_ wanted.” They smiled wanly. “I have a friend. A dear friend, in Hell. I didn’t want to watch my friend die, so I did what I had to. For her.”

“That would be Dagon. Your...uh...scribe?”

“Lord of the Files, Master of Torments. My second-in-command.”

“Sure. Okay.”

Beelzebub caught a flare of jealousy from the Archangel. Oh, isn’t that just _precious_?

“May I show you what we were going to do with the survivors? What we do with all the souls in Hell?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have a contract on me, remember? I can’t hurt you. And I’m not going to.”

“Oh, the contract. Right. Okay. Fine,” Gabriel said. He licked his bottom lip, nervously. “I guess I should see Hell, at least once.”

“It’s pretty grim,” Beelzebub said. “I need you to shrink yourself down. Until I can hold you in my hand. The size of a fly.”

Gabriel obliged, and Beelzebub changed into their proper uniform. Gently, very gently, they lifted him and placed him in their war regalia.

“Won’t they notice?” Gabriel asked. “The other demons.”

“Not if you keep your mouth shut. I always stink of the ethereal after I meet with you. You put it on me every time you touch me.”

“If you didn’t want me to touch you, you could have said something.”

“I...got used to it,” they said, with a shrug. _I got used to you_ , they meant. “This may be a bit...disorienting.”

The doors of the warehouse closed and the lights flickered off. The ground beneath them opened, and Beelzebub slid underneath, with Gabriel clinging very tightly to one of their medals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are like mocha for the soul!


	5. The Soul Engine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel sees the Soul Engine (AKA, the Miracle Machine) in action.

Hell, Soon After

There was only one room in Hell that was warm. It was also clean and cavernous. Concrete floors, walls, and fluorescent lights that actually worked. A black piece of equipment stood in the center of the room. It was as large as a small house with a number of levers, gauges, and lit-up buttons. Two technicians worked at the machine. A huge number of souls, men and women and little children, waited in an orderly line. The line was silent, a sad acceptance permeated the group. Two demons, both clad in very clean scrubs moved the souls along.

These demons did not yell. They spoke to each other with quiet courtesy. They spared very few words on the condemned, just asked them to move forward, stand here, go there. Thank you, and goodbye.

A technician opened the door in the front of the machine. A group of souls were herded inside. When the machine was full, the technician closed the door, and turned the wheel on the front until it clicked. Locked. The other technician pressed a few button, and the whole machine seemed to drain the light from the room. The door was unlocked and opened. It was empty except for the faintest whiff of infernal miracle.

The next group was herded inside.

“This is what happens to them,” Beelzebub said to Gabriel, very quietly, from the corner where they observed the proceedings. “This is what we would have done with the angels. Molloch built it, and keeps tinkering with it. It was just enlarged to accommodate the influx from the Apocalypse.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Thanks,” Beelzebub replied. “All of the infernal miracles of Hell come from this machine, our Soul Engine, also called the Miracle Machine. Just as all the Heavenly miracles come from the Celestial Choir, Heaven’s version of this.”

Another group of souls entered the machine. Hell continued its work, crushing the usefulness out of the spirits that found their way to this room.

“That’s why we work so hard to corrupt souls. They power everything here.”

“But Heaven is different!” Gabriel insisted.

“Is it?” Beelzebub left the room, unnoticed by the technicians and the guards. They had not wanted to be noticed on this errand, and so they weren’t.

“It’s not that I think that you’re lying--I just don’t think that you’re right.”

“I am right,” Beelzebub said, gently as they could. “You’ve never seen the Celestial Choir.”

“Our miracles come from GOD! Maybe the Choir helps with their worship, but there is no way that our miracles come from...a machine like that!”

“Keep your thrice-damned voice down, Archangel,” Beelzebub hissed at their regalia. “You’re God’s messenger--I don’t know if your voice can break through my miracles!”

“God wouldn’t allow something like that to exist in Heaven,” Gabriel whispered. He was terrible at whispering.

“Prove it,” the demon snarled.

They took the lift up, to the ground level of Pandemonium, capital of Hell. Then to another building, another lift. They were in the lobby. Beelzebub found a dark corner and drew Gabriel out of their regalia.

“Do you know where the Celestial Choir is, in Heaven?” they asked.

“Well, yes,” said the angel, straightening his scarf, even though it didn’t need straightening.

“Go check, then.”

“I’m not allowed in there!”

“Can you get in there?”

“I’m. Not. Allowed.”

“Not being allowed is not the same as cannot.” Beelzebub grabbed his hands, feeling their conviction rising up in their throat. “Tell me. Can you?”

“Technically...yes.”

“Go. And look.”

“Fine,” Gabriel said. “But you’re coming with me.”

Beelzebub’s eyes widened. “I don’t think so.”

“I went to Hell with you.”

“Your friends were planning to try and make me Rise!”

“Um...your friends were planning on eating me?”

“Point,” the demon conceded. “Look, I’ve got a good idea of how they were planning on forcing me to Rise. I don’t want that, Archangel.”

“You do?” Gabriel asked, perplexed. “I don’t even know what they were planning to do...I just really wanted you to be part of the program. I mean, I knew what they were going to do with the ones that they felt were...unsalvageable.”

“Destruction?”

“Yeah. Holy Water. Beez,” he said, and there was an ache in his voice. “I didn’t want you to die. You’re not like the rest of them...”

“Yes, I am,” Beelzebub said. “I’m just the only one that you got close to.”

He pulled them close, wrapped an arm around their back. “You’re the only one that I _wanted_ to get close to.”

They relaxed into him, and did something that they almost never did. They closed their eyes. ‘ _The pigeon’s making you soft_ ,’ a memory of Hastur whispered in their ear.

They didn’t care. “I promise you, Gabriel, we’re all the same. Goals and dreams, under all the rage and fear...just like angels, really.”

“What do you dream of, Beez?” he whispered into their hair.

“Warmth,” Beelzebub said, honestly. They could hear the weakness in their voice. The need. “I dream of warmth. You are so warm, angel.”

They felt his lips on the top of their head, his arms around them. And the rustle as his wings unfurled and wrapped around them.

“I dream of you,” he said. “I’d never hurt you. I’d never let anyone hurt you.” He sounded surprised with himself.

Well, that made two of them.

“Some angels...tried to force Dagon to Rise during the First War. They raped her. They nearly killed her. And they never Fell for that.” They watched Gabriel’s reaction. His eyes widened. He didn’t know. “So I assume that’s what the other angels were planning for your survivors.”

“No! I would never allow them to do that to you...to anybody! Who was it? The ones who raped Dagon?”

Beelzebub gave the names. “I want them, Gabriel.”

“Looks like you have to go to Heaven with me, then,” he said, with a wide smile. “Because I can bring you to them, but I can’t help you capture them. I mean, I’m not going to stop you. But I can’t just capture them for you.”

“Promise me that you will not try to get me to Rise. Nor let anyone else.”

“You want a contract?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Alright,” Gabriel knelt, his wings still around Beelzebub. He spoke his vows looking the demon in the eye. “I solemnly swear by The Almighty--“

“No. Stop.”

“What?”

“That’s a prayer, Archangel. Want to advertise that you’re bringing a demon into Heaven?”

“Oh. Okay. What should I swear on?”

“Something that you hold dear.”

“I swear...on my wings,” he began, “that I, the Archangel Gabriel, Messenger of Our Father, will not willingly nor knowingly attempt any harm upon the person, spirit, nor property of the Prince Beelzebub.”

“You’re not going to put a limiter on it?”

“Nope.”

“So much more the fool you are,” Beelzebub said, but they leaned down and kissed him.

The angel held them close, wrapping them in arms and wings, seeming to steal their breath in a kiss that warmed them from lips to toes. A kiss that sent tingles racing from the back of their neck to the soft tissue at the base of their spine.

The contract sealed, but he kept kissing them. Tongues touching, reaching deeper, fingers in hair, and the hot flush of blood in cheeks, and further south.

Gabriel broke the kiss, leaving a line of kisses down the Prince’s neck. They felt like little promises, which Beelzebub hoped that they were.

“Come to Heaven with me?” he asked.

“I suppose I should see it once.”

“You’ve never...?”

“No. I was an Archangel of the Garden. Made on Earth, stayed on Earth. Until I went to Hell.”

“Oh...yes. There was an Archangel in the Garden...I can’t remember.”

“You won’t. Don’t try.” Beelzebub shrank down, slipping out of his arms. Eventually, a small, red and black dragonfly flitted up.

“That’s...adorable, Beez.” He held out his finger, and Beelzebub landed there.

“It’s practical. Dragonflies are very, very fast. And exceptionally versatile fliers. I might have to get away,” they said, leaving his finger and lighting on his chest. They wriggled under his scarf. “Can you see me?”

“No.”

“Good. Let’s get this fool’s errand over with.”

“Fool’s errand, huh?”

“A demon in Heaven. What would you call it?”

“A bad idea, I guess,” Gabriel said, walking briskly towards the lift. “But I need to know. About the Choir.”

“Yes, you do,” Beelzebub said as the lift doors opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are ever so welcome!


	6. Heavenly Devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel finds out where Ethereal miracles come from. CW: light gore

Heaven, After a Short Lift Ride

The first thing that Beelzebub noticed about Heaven is how warm it was. New Orleans sizzled ten months out of the year, one of the reasons that the demon favored the place. Heaven’s warmth was gentler, and frankly drier. It was a comfort, like a drop of sunshine that kissed the top of their head and radiated through their whole body.

They could understand why the Archangel felt a need for heavy coats and scarves in late summer in England, if he was accustomed to this.

“Bring me to the angels first,” Beelzebub said.

“Okay, but why? The Celestial Choir is closer.”

“Because...” _You’re soft, angel. And If I’m right about the Choir, you’re probably going to crawl into a bottle and stay there until the next Apocalypse._ “If this is going to end up pear-shaped, it’s probably best to get that part out of the way.”

“You can’t use any infernal miracles. They’ll notice.”

“Not a problem.”

Gabriel sighed and meandered deep into the maze of cubicles that lesser angels used. He reached one, occupied by a thin, blond angel and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Kaliel, my office, fifteen minutes.”

The angel nodded, looking cowed. Obviously, he didn’t often get summons like this.

The second angel and third angels were scribes, which would explain how they knew Dagon. Granted, after her Fall, it would have been a vague recognition. Not truly knowing someone. Not the way that one knows a colleague that one sees every day.

Must have sufficed for poor Dagon. Those scribes and their two friends knew her well enough to nearly kill her.

The last angel worked sanitation, and was the only one that Beelzebub had recognized when the four names were first given to them. They watched Gabriel flick through his cell phone, eventually locating the last angel. He was emptying trash bins near the Archangel’s offices. Very convenient.

The four angels, who knew each other and were friends, congregated in Gabriel’s office. Gabriel sat at his desk and spread his arms wide open.

“Welcome,” he said. “I’m sure that you’re all wondering why you’re here, huh?”

The angels looked at each other, and Kaliel finally said, “Yes, sir. We are.”

Beelzebub flitted off of the Archangel’s chest and landed on Kaliel’s head. Kaliel didn’t notice. Terror radiated off of him.

It was delicious. The only thing that would have made it better was if it was directed at Beelzebub. But no, this fool was afraid of his boss. Satan knows why. Gabriel was a marshmallow.

Though, maybe only to Beelzebub.

That feeling was as warm as Heaven. So was watching the Archangel smoothly segue into a perfect lie about why he required their attention on the Post-Non-Apocalypse Earth project. How they’d been specially selected to head up teams of angels to scour the planet for evidence that the demons were gearing up for war, against Hell’s orders.

How they ought to focus their attentions on rural warehouses and such.

Beelzebub had their satchel. It was as tiny at they were, and pressed close to their body. It looked like a white lump against their thorax, but it was there.

When they’d first snatched it, they hadn’t known what the bag was capable of. But now, after a series of careful experiments, they knew that they’d wasted a great deal of miracles shrinking people for a bag that could just suck them inside.

They opened the satchel, and it did its work

The other three angels were alarmed at Kaliel’s disappearance.

“Oh, that’s normal,” Gabriel said calmly, as the next angel disappeared into Beelzebub’s satchel. “New transport method.”

The last two angels looked at each other before Beelzebub collected them.

“That went...better than I expected,” Gabriel said, as Beelzebub tucked themself back underneath his scarf. “What did you use?”

“My satchel. It’s Ethereal. I stole it off of a soldier in the first war.”

“What did you do to the soldier?”

“Nothing. He was already down,” said Beelzebub. “Just stole from him. I needed something to collect the survivors in. I avoided combat as much as possible. And when it found me, well, I’m very fast--I knocked them out.”

“With a miracle?”

“What miracles, angel?” the demon asked. “We were cut off from God. No miracles for us.”

“You’re telling me that you nearly defeated us...outnumbered two to one...with no miracles?”

“Yes. That’s precisely what I’m saying. I anticipated that God would take all of our souls for your side, or maybe start handing out miracles Herself again. I didn’t know,” Beelzebub explained. “That’s why every one of our weapons had to work without miracles. And against miracles, Stormbringer.”

“I really think it just would have been swords for us, Beez.”

“More the worse for your friends,” the demon said. “Thank you for helping me bring some peace to Dagon.”

“I don’t want those...very bad angels...in Heaven,” Gabriel said, disgusted. “What’re you going to do with them?”

“Give them to Dagon. See if a little revenge is good for her soul.”

“Do you think it will be?”

“I don’t know. I was never raped. It’s considered torture for a reason. Not one that we use, by the way. The devil must always be invited in.”

“Really?”

“Really. Angel, if I’m right about the Choir, are you going to be able to come back here?”

“You’re not right about the Choir.”

“But if I am...”

“You’re not.”

“Is there anything here that you’d miss? Do you need to take anything with you?”

“No. Not really.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Gabriel sighed, and stepped out of the office. The hallways were so bright and wide. And so warm. Beelzebub felt a glorious swelling in their soul and had to stop themself from buzzing.

The Archangel knew his way around, and navigated the maze of corridors and windowed halls with magnificent views of the gold-lit clouds and London’s gleaming skyline.

The sights were like a salve on a wound that Beelzebub didn’t know they had.

Eventually, they stopped at the end of a long hallway. There was a door, and the door had a sign that said, “Authorized Personnel Only. No Admittance.”

“Who, exactly, is ‘Authorized Personnel’ if not you?” Beelzebub asked.

“Metatron, I think. I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “Well, it’s not locked.”

“It’s not? Seriously?”

“Why would we lock anything, Beez? We’re _angels_!”

“I have four angels in my satchel who are fond of entering things without permission.”

“Okay. Good point.” Gabriel took a deep breath and opened the door.

Light. Blinding white light. When Beelzebub’s sight adjusted to the brightness, they could see that they were on a platform, very high above the clouds. The pearly gates gleamed to their left, huge and closed. A lift waited, closed, to their right. This room must be directly above the cavernous room in the Basement.

There was a podium beside the gate, shining gold and warm. A book laid open on it. Beelzebub flitted off of Gabriel’s chest and zipped over to the book.

“Beez!” Gabriel called, running over.

“It’s not a book...” Beelzebub said, hovering over what was certainly Saint Peter’s book. “Looks like some kind of tablet. The controls are here.”

Gabriel stepped up to the podium.

“This opens the gates...this starts the machine...this measures the miraculous energy harvested.” Beelzebub pointed to the different controls with their tail.

Gabriel touched the correct button and opened the gates. They revealed a huge room, with walls made of light. Gabriel stepped inside.

“Does yours eat demons?” he asked.

“No,” Beelzebub said. “We would have discorporated Crowley and brought him there if it did. Waste not, want not.”

Gabriel shuddered. “You know, this machine might just transfer souls to the actual Choir.”

“It has a meter to measure energy harvest.”

“From the Choir,” Gabriel said, flailing wildly at the tiny dragonfly that flitted around him. “This might just move souls from here to the Choir. It might not BE the Choir.”

“The lift is moving. I guess you get to find out.”

The gates began to close, and Beelzebub managed to zip out of the machine.

“Beez?” Gabriel, who had not managed to get out, called.

“I’m fine. I can’t stay in there. It would destroy me, but you need to see.”

The lift opened.

Beelzebub flitted around the small group of souls. They looked like a family. An elderly woman, a mother, a father, and three small children.

A discorporated angel, no, a hologram of an angel appeared behind the podium.

“Andersons?” said the hologram.

“Is that Saint Peter?!” asked the oldest girl, gap toothed and quite precious if you ignored the blood soaking into her dress. “Momma! Momma! Look!”

“Welcome, child. Welcome,” said Saint Peter, the hologram. “Come, come. You are all welcome here.”

“I didn’t see that truck,” the father said, his face shredded. “I am so sorry.”

“God knows, my son,” Saint Peter said. “You must be James, and this is Ellen?”

“Yes,” the mother whispered. Her throat had been torn open. “This is Edward,” she said, indicating the baby-blanket wrapped lump of bloody hamburger that gurgled in her arms. “This is my mother, Janet.”

“Yes, Janet Ellis. Your husband has been waiting for you.”

“Ted? Teddy! Where is he?” the old woman said.

She was holding her guts in with one arm. A little boy clung to her thigh. Most of the little boy’s face was gone.

“He’s just inside,” Saint Peter said. “Caitlin and Colin, your twins, right?”

James nodded. “What’s going to happen now?”

“You’ll join the Celestial Choir,” said Saint Peter. The gates opened, revealing Gabriel.

“Who is that?” Caitlin asked, running over to Gabriel.

“Oh, that’s the Archangel Gabriel,” Saint Peter said. “Why are you here, Archangel?”

“Checking the equipment,” Gabriel said, smooth as ever. “I’ve never seen this machine work.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine,” Saint Peter crossed the names off of his list, and waved a hand broadly to the open room. “Come, children. Go meet the rest of your family, and join in divine worship of God.”

Colin ran to the angel, and so did his sister. Gabriel opened his arms to the bleeding children. Beelzebub watched him wrap them in his wings as their parents followed them inside, as their grandmother staggered in after. The gates closed.

There was a sound, a gentle whirr. A pleasant sound, somewhere between a cat’s purr and the rumble of retreating thunder. The room brightened, briefly. Then the gates reopened. A slight whiff of Ethereal miracle followed the angel as he staggered out of the room.

He looked haunted.

“They dissolved,” he said, softly. “Just...poof. Gone.”

“Yes,” said Saint Peter. “Alas, they were a poor crop. Very little energy from them.”

“Energy?”

“Yes, Archangel.” Saint Peter tapped his tablet a few times. “This is what we got from them. Barely enough to cover the expenditures for the next week, which is when I’m expecting the next group. Truly righteous souls are rare. Honestly, James Anderson probably should have been sent Downstairs, but an exception was made because he made a sizable donation to a church charity last week. Well, if we don’t loosen the rules in some places, everyone would go Downstairs, eh?” Saint Peter shook his head. “If that’s all?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Very good. God be with you,” said Saint Peter, disappearing.

Beelzebub zipped to the Archangel’s chest, and disappeared under his scarf.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” they said.

Gabriel nodded, and turned. He walked like a sleepwalker back through the warm halls and well-lit corridors. Beelzebub thought he was heading to the lifts.

“Where are you going?” The demon asked, when they finally arrived at the lobby with the lifts.

“Away from here,” he said, numbly pressing the button that would call the lift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos make me add chapters!
> 
> ^Seriously, tho.^


	7. Shifting Gears -- Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in New Orleans, it's time for a drink.

New Orleans, Monday Morning

Travelling by lightning was every bit as harrowing as Beelzebub had ever imagined it would be. Thankfully, the angel thought to use a miracle to keep the inebriated denizens and tourists from noticing, this time.

“Where are you going?” Beelzebub asked.

“I need a drink,” Gabriel replied. “You’re right. This is easier with alcohol.”

He strode back into the bar that they had been in the night before. The angel moved with a disconcerting purpose. Beelzebub watched from their perch on his chest as he practically barreled into the bar.

“I need a drink. You serve a white one...in these glasses?”

The barkeep stared at him, perplexed. “We serve a lot of white drinks in tumblers, my dude. You are going to have to be more specific.”

“It’s really...sweet?”

Beelzebub sighed, and flitted off of the angel’s chest. They zipped outside, miracled themselves unnoticed, and then turned back into a person. Changed their regalia out for a more conventional business suit--short skirt, long jacket--something that complimented Gabriel. Then they clicked into the bar.

“Gabriel,” they said, when they looped an arm around his, “you’re looking for a White Russian.”

“I’m looking for a drink, not a person,” Gabriel said, looking down at them.

“A White Russian is a drink,” Beelzebub explained, pointing at the menu.

“Wow, you look nice,” Gabriel said, taking them in.

“Thanks.”

“Wait, did you use a miracle?”

“Of course, I did. You need to keep your thrice-damned voice down, Stormbringer.”

“That’s a cute nickname,” the bartender said. “Why do you call him that?”

“He always makes it rain,” Beelzebub said, waving a hand at the barkeep. “Thanks for putting up with my featherbrained colleague. This is his first Decadence.”

“Oh, wow! Hope you have a great time, dude,” said the bartender. “But, like, technically, it’s Monday. We’re closed right now.”

“You are?” Gabriel asked. He looked towards the doorway, which was wide open.

“Yeah. You’re not locals. England?”

“Me,” Beelzebub said, evaluating Gabriel’s accent and quickly deciding where he was from. “He’s from St. Louis.”

“Oh, cool. Well, here’s the deal, my out-of-town dudes, there’s this law that says that we have to close the bar at two in the morning. Some bars do, and they open at, like, two-fifteen. But Lafitte’s, they took down their doors because there’s no building code that says that you HAVE to have a door. So they’re like, ‘No door. Can’t close’. And we did the same,” the bartender explained. “But right now, we ARE closed, and I’m just here doing clean-up.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take him and go.”

“Come back tonight, my man. We make a hell of a White Russian.”

“Yeah, you do. I will,” he said. “Where are we going, then Beez?”

“Oh, I know a place,” Beelzebub said, leading him out of the bar. “One at a time, angel. Single file. These doors are quite narrow and you are not.”

Gabriel let Beelzebub leave first, and then followed, offering his arm when they were outside. Beelzebub took it and steered the angel down Bourbon Street.

“You shouldn’t use miracles anymore,” Gabriel said. “They’re...people.”

“Yes,” Beelzebub agreed. “They’re people. But the energy is going to be produced by it anyways. Me using it--or not using it--will not change how it is made nor that it is made. Not using it is foolish.”

“Please?” he asked. His voice was soft, sad.

“For now. Until we can talk.” Beelzebub stopped in front of a booth that opened to the street. “Two grenades, please?” they asked.

“Sure,” said the polo-clad clerk and gave the price.

Beelzebub rummaged in their handbag for the correct currency.

They handed the angel the first queer plastic container that they were handed. They took the second.

“This is called a yard-dog, angel,” Beelzebub said. “It is one yard long, hence the name. The drink inside here is incredibly sweet, exceptionally potent, and very, very cold. So if you gulp instead of sip--“

They were too late. Gabriel was pressing the heel of one palm against his head. “It hurts!”

“Brain freeze,” Beelzebub confirmed. “Lick the roof of your mouth, it helps.”

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” Gabriel frantically licked at the roof of his mouth.

Beelzebub reached up and tapped Gabriel on the head, relieving the pain.

“No, Beez. No miracles,” he said, grabbing their hand and kissing it.

Beelzebub flushed. “Alright then, well, I’m taking you home.”

“To Hell?”

“No.”

“You have a place here?”

“I have a place everywhere I go,” Beelzebub said. “Let’s go. Sip, do not gulp.”

Beelzebub led the angel through the maze of narrow one-way streets to a large hotel. One that wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at two well-dressed business people. They took the lift up to a floor chosen at random. They led him to the end of the hall, to a blank expanse of wall.

“Close your eyes,” they said.

He obeyed. “Why am I closing my eyes?”

“In a minute, Archangel, I’ll explain.”

They pulled a door from their handbag. Attached it to the wall and used a miracle to change the paint and fixtures to match the hotel. They used another miracle to make whomever saw the door to think that the room was unoccupied, and unimportant.

Gabriel opened his eyes a hair, “I smell infernal miracle,” he grumbled.

“We can talk inside,” Beelzebub said, opening the door. “After you, angel?”

Gabriel stepped inside and Beelzebub followed. They dropped their handbag on the mirrored umbrella stand beside the door. The familiar sounds and smells of home reached them. Of the house, and the grounds around them.

“This...is...This is impressive...you built your own realm?”

“Many of us do, in order to be on Earth.” Beelzebub took the empty yard-dog from the angel. “You drink too fast.”

“Alcohol helps. You said that.”

“It does, indeed.” The demon returned the empty plastic vessel to the booth that they purchased it from. Along with theirs.

“You finished yours, too...” Gabriel said.

“Prince of Gluttony,” Beelzebub replied. “And an experienced drinker. You’re probably a lightweight.”

“I’m pretty heavy, Beez.”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Turn of phrase. It means that you probably can’t handle your alcohol.”

“I’m fine. Wait, did you use a miracle on those glasses?”

“Yes.”

“No miracles, please. Beez, I’m begging you. Please.”

“Come on, angel. Let’s go sit and talk.”

Beelzebub sat the angel down in the overstuffed loveseat that dominated their living room. They kicked their shoes off and settled into his lap. They didn’t ask for permission. They didn’t need to.

He wrapped his arms around them, and for a moment, they just sat there like that. Enjoying the warmth of his body. The gentleness that he handled them with. The way his fingers settled on their waist, the way he stroked them.

His smell, petrichlor and ozone from his lightning. The smell of his body underneath.

The alcohol had loosened them both up. This was nice. Beyond nice. But Gabriel still required some education.

“We don’t know what She wants from us, do we, angel?” they said, when it seemed like it was time to say something.

“No,” he agreed.

They wrapped their arms around his neck. Felt him trace a line just underneath one stockinged thigh. Past the hem of their skirt. That was nice.

“We’ve been studying it, we demons,” Beelzebub explained. “We believe that She _wants_ us to use miracles. When we Fell, the Lake of Fire burned hot. Now? Not so much.”

“Why not?”

“It was the original Soul Engine. In the beginning, there were no souls. Our miracles came from the Lake. It took a few decades for souls to begin to arrive--so the energy that we needed to build Hell, it came from the Lake.”

“But the Lake dried up?”

“So to speak,” they agreed. “It’s still a Lake, and it’s still fire, but it burns cold. The whole of Hell went from being very warm to being very cold. Molloch had already started building--he had worked on the Celestial Choir, and had some idea of what the final product was for. The Soul Engine is what he built. It solved two problems.”

“Two?”

“Yes. Problem one--we needed energy for our miracles. Problem two--God sent us all the souls of the people who didn’t fit Heaven’s narrow conditions for admission,” they explained. “By the time the Soul Engine was developed, we had souls. Many, and they were stacking up. We didn’t have anything else to do with them, so we fed them to the Soul Engine.”

Gabriel shuddered.

“They were supposed to be tormented, but Molloch already knew that the ones that went to Heaven were to be harvested,” Beelzebub said, gently. “We chose to harvest them. They had no other purpose--and we weren’t going to torture them.”

“I’d say that the Soul Engine is torture.”

“They are not hurt, if that makes you feel better. The harvesting is peaceful. Painless, as far as we can tell. And we need the miracles if we want to survive.”

“Survive?” The angel looked sick. “How? You don’t need food, water, any of that.”

“Speak for yourself. I have to eat. Prince of Gluttony.”

“Okay, YOU need miracles. Beez, I don’t think I can use miracles...knowing where they come from.”

“I don’t think you can NOT use miracles, Gabriel,” they said, running gentle fingers over his shoulders. “Your lightning is a miracle, Stormbringer. You used a miracle to keep people from noticing us arriving in New Orleans. You do it without thinking.”

“I can stop. I will,” he said stubbornly.

“Archangel...” Beelzebub said, their voice cracking with pain and frustration. “I think we HAVE to use miracles. I don’t know what happens to the energy from our miracle expenditure--nobody does. Maybe it goes into the Earth? Maybe it becomes other souls? Maybe we’re processing it into a form that God can consume.”

“Like mitochondria?”

“Maybe.”

“We might be the powerhouse of the cell?”

Beelzebub laughed, in spite of themself. “Archangel of Communication. I suppose you know all of the memes.”

“It’s part of the job.” He grabbed their hand and kissed it. “Galaxy brain is my favorite.”

“I still like Grumpy Cat,” Beelzebub said, and it felt like admitting to a particularly odd porn addiction.

“You would. I kind of helped that one along...because I thought you might like it.”

“That is...” _Overwhelming_ , they thought. “Perfect. Really.”

“Thanks.”

“Back to the souls. What I’m saying is...She wants us to use miracles,” they said, wrapping their arms around Gabriel’s neck and leaning into him. “If she did not, then we never would have been able to build a Soul Engine. We wouldn’t have had a concrete amount of miracles available to us--a Lake which lasted just long enough to build Hell, the Miracle Machine, and to collect the first round of souls.”

“You don’t feel guilty? Using them like that?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t know what NOT using the Soul Engine, or refusing to use miracles would do,” they replied. “I don’t know if I’m just...part of their processing, turning them into a form that is useful to God. Somehow.” Beelzebub paused. “You can see, I know a bit about agriculture. Souls are a crop of some kind. I don’t understand how it works. But I have no other way to explain the existence of the Soul Engine and the Celestial Choir. None.”

“But why...would God give you so many miracles and us so few?”

“I don’t think that she intended to,” the demon said. “That’s just the way that things fell. We ended up with all of the non-Abrahamic souls. All of the Hindus and Buddhists, and that’s quite a lot. Then there are all of the hoops that an Abrahamic soul has to jump through to be considered worthy of Heaven. So...you get crumbs, while we get a buffet.”

The Archangel shivered at the mention of crumbs and buffets. Beelzebub held him tighter. “But you think God thought it would be more even?”

“Oh, I think She thinks very highly of Herself,” they sniffed. “She thinks everyone would follow Her, and She seriously underestimated how easy it is to tempt the humans.”

“You’d mentioned that you worked very hard to corrupt souls.”

“We do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! One more chapter, and an epilogue. Comments and kudos are like flowers on the stairs.


	8. Shifting Gears -- Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shifting gears means acceleration or deceleration. Either way, things are changing.

“You’d mentioned that you worked very hard to corrupt souls.”

“We do.”

Gabriel stayed silent for a while, probably mulling over his thoughts before he changed the subject. “What were you the Archangel of, Beez?”

“Nothing important,” Beelzebub said. “If you figure it out, She will just take it away from you. You know that, right?”

“Aw, Beez. C’mon, I want to know about you.”

“You do know about me,” Beelzebub said, warmed by the alcohol and the angel. They felt loose. Comfortable. “You know more about me than anybody else on this rock, excepting Dagon.”

Jealousy flared from Gabriel.

“Don’t be jealous, angel. She was there first, frankly,” they said. “Besides, she doesn’t love me. Not really.”

“What is your relationship, exactly?”

“Friends with a few specific benefits. Me, pining like a fool, and her enjoying my attention. She likes the kisses, but...” They sighed. “Oh, she didn’t want anything else from me. She fancies girls, and I’m not one of those. I strongly suspect that she fancied a particular girl, but she would never say. So she kept my kisses, and I took anything at all that she would give me. Hell is so cold. I fostered any warmth that I found there. Any.”

“How did that start?”

“I saved her. She was grateful. And, at the time, I think she wanted someone to cling to as much as I did, but...” Admitting to engaging in this peculiar form of survival snogging with someone who was an immediate subordinate turned out to be a lot more difficult than Beelzebub anticipated. “Now, I keep her safe.”

“That sounds...”

“Sketchy.”

“I was going to say lonely,” Gabriel said. “Really lonely.”

“It’s sketchy, angel. I’m her immediate supervisor, and it’s rotten of me to take advantage, even in a soft way. Ugh...do you have anybody in Heaven that you’re close to?”

“Not really,” Gabriel said. “I’m friendly enough with Michael and Sandalphon. Uriel’s just sad and angry all the time. I think everybody else is afraid of me.”

“I can undertand what that’s like. Everybody in Hell is afraid of me.”

“I’d heard that, but I don’t get it,” he said. “You’re such a NICE demon. I mean, I had to deal with other Princes, and they were...not nice. Really not nice.”

“I’m nice to YOU. Not to everybody,” Beelzebub said, kissing his neck until he started to flush. “Look, I’m very small compared to the other demons. I was the smallest Archangel. People underestimate me, try to hurt me, and they have to be put in their place. That’s how I became a Prince.”

“What happened?”

“Buzzing around Hell, when the Lake still burned hot. I was a fly, and some other demon ate me. I found myself in a stomach, so I just turned back into myself. I exploded out of the poor fellow, and the damage discorporated him instantly. Lucifer saw that, and declared me to be his next-in-command.”

“That’s really scary, Beez,” he said, kissing the top of their head. “You’re terrifying.”

“Healers are,” Beelzebub replied, leaning up to brush his lips with their own. His hand went to the nape of their neck and he kissed them with passion. He still tasted sweet from the booze. “Do you remember that horrible battle in the Crusades, near the church by the sea?”

Gabriel grimaced. “Yeah. It was awful. Humans are...brutal. I nearly got discorporated. Sword to the back, and someone hit me in the head.”

“I know. I was there.”

“You were?”

“Yes,” Beelzebub said. “I pulled you out of the surf. I healed you.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Not surprising,” they said. “The back of your head was stove in.”

“Why did you help me?” Gabriel asked. “We barely knew each other then.”

“I’d just had my first meeting with Sandalphon,” Beelzebub said, shivering at the memory. “I’d already had a meeting with Michael, which was unproductive. She was condescending and all smiles through the whole thing. That might work on Ligur, but not me. I’d met with Uriel, who was sullen about having anything to do with a demon. And then there was you. Open, easy to speak to, fond of swearing.”

Gabriel smiled, and Beelzebub kissed him again.

“And then there was Sandalphon,” they said, after breaking the kiss. “I didn’t get along with Sandalphon before I Fell. He was too rigid, too eager to serve, and frankly--he was too vicious, Gabriel. Too, too vicious.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He came at me with a spear. At the meeting. Just launched it at me,” Beelzebub said. “I turned into flies, and I got away, but it was not an experience that I ever wanted again. So, of the four, you were my favorite.”

“You saved me...for better meetings?”

“Oh, at first,” they said. “Every time that you fell in battle, I put you back together. I didn’t know if getting discorporated would cause God to doubt you. Keep you in Heaven, and Metatron would send me another one. Well, Metatron never liked me either.”

“Metatron doesn’t like anybody.”

“He really doesn’t like me.”

“I’ll bite, why?”

“Something about being juvenile, thinking I’m better than I am, and not knowing my place.”

“Well, he’s not going to like a demon.”

“True,” Beelzebub said. “But he said all of that when I was an Archangel. I’m sure he had less flattering things to say after I Fell.”

“Oh, wow. So yeah, he probably hates you more than he hates the rest of the world, and that is saying something.”

“At first, it was about not wanting to deal with a spear to the face. But it was during one of the really horrible battles during the Wars of the Roses that I realized that I just couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.” They paused. “I cannot tell you how much that hurt.”

“It hurt?”

“God kept putting you in danger. I was putting myself in danger dragging you out of danger. Oh, and on top of that, I had no reason to suspect that you’d ever care for me.”

“If I knew you were the one saving me! Beez, I honestly thought that I had a guardian angel!”

“On top of that, I was supposed to fight you at the end, and if I refused...Dagon...I’d lose Dagon, if we lost.” The tears came quickly. Fear and pain and pure, seething rage. The angel held them closer. “I just figured that I’d keep you safe. And after it was over, we’d figure something out. We’re smart people.”

“Uriel suggested that we collect survivors. Asked if we had any in particular that we thought could Rise. I suggested you, immediately. I never really understood why you were even IN Hell,” Gabriel said. “I didn’t know what they were planning. I don’t think Uriel _was_ planning anything at all. I think that Uriel just had a demon that was special to her...I mean, we all named someone pretty quickly. Except Sandalphon, who wasn’t interested in any of you Rising. He just wanted to kill all of you.”

“Sandalphon probably used that list of ‘special demons’ as his own personal in-war hit list.”

“Probably,” Gabriel agreed.

“When did you start...caring...for me?”

“First meeting, actually.”

“Really? That quickly?”

“Well, I’d already had meetings with every other demon Prince,” Gabriel said, rubbing his jaw. “Mammon? I had to check and make sure that I still had my wallet. Molloch? He’s...erm...angry...all the time, isn’t he?”

Beelzebub nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Leviathan probably got way more out of me than he gave up, as far as information. Belphegor said two words to me--in a three hour meeting! First word, ‘Hello’. Second word, ‘Good’. Thank you, but not again.”

“He’s like that. Sloth demon, and all.”

“Yeah. Then they sent me Belial, who talked my ear off about nothing. That guy is just...greasy, somehow. Last one was Asmodeus.” He shuddered. “No, thank you. He showed up wearing almost nothing and was offended when I didn’t understand why we had to meet in his bedroom.”

“He’s like that. Lust demon, and all.”

“Did he ever try anything with you?”

“Of course,” Beelzebub said. “I said no, and he respected that.”

“He didn’t...try to force me, or anything,” Gabriel admitted. “It was just...awkward. So awkward. And then they gave me you. We had a pleasant meeting. Productive. And you were so...capable. It was refreshing! And you didn’t do anything weird to me.”

“Your standards are low.”

“You were also...adorable,” Gabriel said. “I liked you straight off, but if you’re asking about romantic...about now...I guess when Uriel suggested that we might be able to salvage you. I didn’t want to love you...when I couldn’t keep you.”

His lips found their neck, following the same trail that they’d followed earlier, in the lobby. Beelzebub, after a moment of hesitation, lifted their chin, exposing their throat. Did he know what that meant, a demon exposing their throat?

He kissed the hollow of their throat, nipping gently at the tendons there.

“Is this a surrender, Beez?”

“If we were fighting, yes,” Beelzebub said. “In this context...it means that I trust you. And that you can keep me.”

“What comes next?”

 _Both of us, hopefully._ “Let’s go to bed,” they said, and rolled off of his lap.

Beelzebub took the angel’s hand and led him deeper in their home, past the Baroque cabinets carved with flowers and insects, past the well-stocked kitchen, and down the dark hall to the room with the huge canopy bed and the very soft Persian rug.

There, they dispensed of clothing and every other barrier between the two of them. Slowly, under the patter of fat summer rain, they discovered the feel of each other’s skin. The taste of each other’s salt and musk. And, eventually, the fulfillment of millennia of need.

They spent hours at it.

Completely spent, consciousness slipping away, snug beneath the already snoring Archangel, Beelzebub was warm.

Finally warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect an epilogue. Love you all. Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	9. Epilogue: Transmission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transmission sets the speed, shifts gears, and makes changes. Transmission of knowledge can do the same, Beelzebub finds.

Tuesday, Private Realm of Prince Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies

Beelzebub’s eyelids creaked open. They’d shifted in the night, and were curled up on Gabriel’s chest. The Archangel was already awake. They could feel him stroking their lower back, they closed their eyes and sighed.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” Beelzebub replied, inhaling the booze in their sweat and the smell of the two of them that still permeated the room. The smell was sweet. Like sex and candy, as the song went. They kissed the angel’s chest. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long.”

“Good, because you need to piss, and I’m going to guess you haven’t the slightest clue how to go about it.”

“Is that what that is?” he asked. His voice was still sleepy.

“Come on, angel. Let me introduce you to the toilet.”

Beelzebub slipped out of bed, and took the angel by the hand. He followed them to the bathroom, and they demonstrated how a toilet worked, pissing out what was left of their own booze.

“No, sit down, tall person,” they told him. “I stood for demonstration purposes. You’re going to want to sit down, or there may be issues with aim and backsplash.”

Gabriel nodded and took a seat. Luckily, he was a fast learner.

“Oh, God. This is good, Beez,” he said.

“That’s why they call it relieving yourself. It feels good. Don’t hold it for too long, in the future,” they explained. “It’s hard on the corporation.”

“I guess this is going to be a regular thing...huh?”

“If you want to reduce your miracle consumption, yes,” Beelzebub replied. “You have to eat, you know. Unless you plan to keep healing yourself.”

“You’re going to keep using miracles, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I can’t stop, angel,” they said. “Stand up.”

Beelzebub showed him how to flush and wash his hands.

“I don’t know what She’s going to do if we stop using miracles--but I know what it would do to us,” Beelzebub wrapped their arms around him, pressed their face into his back. “We’ll die.”

They felt him tense. Oh, he hadn’t thought of that. Best to keep explaining it.

“You keep your corporation healthy with your miracles,” they said. “If you just eat, like a mortal, and exercise and all that--it does help, don’t get me wrong. But, you’ll senesce. Even with the exercise and the miracles, you’re senescing. Slowly.”

“I’m what?”

“Senescing. Growing old. Slowly,” Beelzebub said. “I remember what you looked like before I Fell. I did see you--just at a distance. You’re getting older.” They sighed. “So am I, but I wasn’t really putting that much effort into staying young these last few decades. Especially not in the last twelve years. What was the point? I knew that no matter how much I worked to save us, you probably DID have God on your side.”

“You...were suicidal?”

“For a long time,” Beelzebub confirmed, holding him tighter. “Let’s get some breakfast. If I’m going to dump all of this on you, I ought to feed you.”

Gabriel reached around himself and collected them in his arms. “Please don’t ever leave me, Beez.”

“Until yesterday, I didn’t know you’d miss me,” Beelzebub said, watching them in the gold-gilt mirror. He felt so good in their arms. “It was a soft suicide, angel. More of an acceptance. The only way I could go is forward, and so I was walking to my death. Like the souls in line for the Soul Engine. I made peace with it.”

He shuddered and stroked their head. “No dying. Okay?”

“No dying,” they agreed. “Breakfast.”

“I’m willing to try it.”

“Good. I’m an excellent cook,” Beelzebub gave him a gentle squeeze and led him back into their bedroom. “No eating naked,” they said and tossed him a robe. It grew in his hands, and changed from black to a light heather grey.

Gabriel sighed. “Alright. Fine. Miracles.”

“We don’t know what would happen if we stopped,” Beelzebub said with a shrug. They pulled on a giant black hooded robe. It was terry, and soft.

“You look like you’re off to make a sacrifice.”

“A snackrifice, maybe,” Beelzebub said, softly.

Gabriel laughed. It was a lovely sound when it was genuine. They hugged him again, because they wanted to.

“You look like a sacrifice...”

“I do?”

“Oh, yes. They put them in white robes before they cut them up for me.”

“Oooh...that’s right...the Ba’al cults,” Gabriel shuddered. “Why did you do that?”

He waited for an explanation, bright violet eyes sparkling with curiosity. This strange angel, who had opened himself for them, who had spent a few hours calling to them, encouraging them as they brought him to light and joy so many times.

Who still thought of them as a monster. Maybe the best of the monsters, but still a monster.

Can a relationship be built on that? And why would he even want to try, if that’s how he felt about them?

Well, Beelzebub decided to give him a pass. He was an angel, after all. There were many things he didn’t know, didn’t understand, and never gave a moment’s thought.

They’d see if he still wanted them after breakfast and conversation. They’d gotten one night of warmth from him. They could live in that memory, couldn’t they?

“I didn’t create those cults. Humans are awful on their own, and Lucifer was happy with it...so I couldn’t exactly discourage it. I went up once, to watch.” Beelzebub sighed heavily. “Still not as bad as the cages of little children that they burned to Molloch.”

“Beez, you look like you’re going to cry...”

“I’m hungry,” Beelzebub said. “I cry easily when I’m hungry. C’mon. I’m going to feed us.”

Beelzebub took his hand and led him to the kitchen, before he could think too hard about it. As they stepped out of the room, Beelzebub miracled the bed clean and made, and the tangled pile of discarded clothes cleaned and pressed.

Gabriel didn’t seem to notice, and that was good.

“You don’t eat...I’m not going to ask about preferences.” They sat Gabriel at the antique wrought-iron scrollwork café table in the kitchen.

“Did this table come from...that café we used to meet at...in France?”

“Yes. This is _our_ table, actually.”

“Figured the Nazis’ bombs took care of it...”

“I saved this one,” Beelzebub said, running a finger around the edge of the table. “It was ours...and it had...it _has_...good memories.”

“Yeah, I always liked meeting on Earth.”

Beelzebub laid a kiss on his forehead. They smiled through the kiss, but the tears were there. There was still so much he didn’t know. And Beelzebub was afraid to tell the rest.

Oh, but they would. He deserved to know.

They rummaged through the refrigerator. “Here, try this,” they said, grabbing a spoon from a drawer and handing him a jar. “It’s Dutch oatmeal. Peaches. You always liked peach blossom. Do you know how to use a spoon?”

“In theory...”

Beelzebub showed him, with the same patience that they’d taught him to use the toilet.

“Oh, Beez, this is good...”

“Oatmeal, yogurt, peaches. Cinnamon and nutmeg. And honey,” they explained. “Keep it in the refrigerator overnight and it turns into that. It kind of reminds me of something the humans made in Mesopotamia.”

“It’s...so good.”

“Thanks.”

Beelzebub poked the start button on the coffee maker. They pulled down two cast-iron skillets. Meat from the freezer miraculously thawed in their hands, and they began to rub seasoning into it. Cold meat met hot pan and began to sizzle. The room filled with the smell, and Beelzebub cracked some eggs into the pans. Three seemed right. The angel was a big guy. He’d probably eat as much as they did. Toast, lightly browned, and a plate of tomatoes, lightly peppered.

Coffee with cream and sugar and chocolate. Orange juice and water, both in carafes, and butter and honey on the table.

Beelzebub didn’t bother with plating the meat and eggs, just served it sizzling in the pan. “Do you know how to use a knife and fork?”

“In...theory?”

Beelzebub smiled at his ignorance, and showed the angel how to cut his meat.

Most of the meal was a teaching experience. How to spread butter. How to drink coffee without burning oneself. How to pour a drink from a carafe. Gabriel took his lessons very seriously. Though Beelzebub had learned how earnestly he learned new things the night before, teaching him the banalities of eating was strangely joyful.

Replete, they both sank back into the chairs that they’d used for meetings for the fifty or so years that they’d sat outside a French café. Going out had been Beelzebub’s idea. They thought that the angel should see something of the world. Besides whatever he managed to see before, during, or after a smiting.

He needed a healing, and a proper one. Beelzebub was contemplating whether to do it now (or wait until their food went down more), when Gabriel asked them, “Hey Beez?”

“Yes?”

He grabbed their hand across the table, and his smile was warm. “What happened twelve years ago, huh? What made you want to die?”

Beelzebub laid their hand over Gabriel’s. “Let me get the dishes, and we’ll talk in the living room.”

“Not here?”

“No. Too painful,” Beelzebub said.

Skillets and cutlery flew back to their places, perfectly clean. Beelzebub put the condiments back in the fridge without a miracle.

“Did you have to...with the miracles?”

“Yes, I did. That is three-hundred year old, perfectly seasoned, cast iron. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, so you’re just going to have to trust me that a miracle was necessary,” Beelzebub replied. “Come on, angel. It’s time to talk.”

They held out their hand, and he took it. Back to the living room. They set him down on the couch and then took a seat on his lap. Their arms went around his neck, and their lips found his.

 _Give me strength_ , Beelzebub thought.

“Do you remember...” they began, “twelve years ago, I started sending Dagon in my stead for meetings?”

“Yeah. She’s a cold one.”

“You’re an angel, and a male besides,” Beelzebub said, with an eyeroll. “She’s not going to like you. She’s going to be afraid. Those four feathered fools in my satchel? YOU get to hand them over, because I want her to like you.”

“Well, she’s your...friend. Are you still going to be...whatever you’re doing with her?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, kind of. Yes.”

“Why?”

“Look, if we’re going to encourage...uh...interoffice unity,” Gabriel said, choosing his words carefully. “She can have her person back, right?”

“Her person doesn’t remember her, whoever she is,” Beelzebub replied.

“Oh. Fuck. Well, if they fell in love the first time, they’ll fall in love again? Right?”

“Are you the same person you were in the Garden-times?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t,” they said. “You’ve learned new things, and grown and changed because of what you learned. So has Dagon and her mysterious angel. We can hope that they still love each other, but...”

“You said she doesn’t love you.”

“She wants a bit of warmth. I’m not going to withhold that.”

“You said it was sketchy.”

“This is sketchier, isn’t it?” Beelzebub asked, leaning into his chest. “Planning on telling Metatron about us?”

“No...”

“Just say that you want me to yourself,” they said, looking up at him.

“I want you to myself.” His kiss came fast, like lightning. He slowed down when his tongue slipped between their teeth, and his hand slipped into their robe. “I want you. All to myself.”

Beelzebub felt flushed. “We’ll see...after we talk...” they said, demurring.

“Nothing you could say would change that.”

“I’m the mother of the Antichrist.” It slipped out, fluidly. One sentence. Six words.

“You’re...what?” Gabriel reeled, but he didn’t drop them.

“It...wasn’t rape...precisely...” Beelzebub looked down at their hands, clenched tightly in their lap. They were white with the pressure. “I did get a choice. That choice was me...or Dagon. I chose myself.”

“He just used...like an UNholy spirit, or something, right?”

“No, angel. Black altar, candles, and half of Hell watching,” Beelzebub said. “He hurt me...pretty badly. And then, he kept me until I bore the child.”

Beelzebub remembered him wailing, their son, in the darkness of his father’s bed. The one that he’d forced them to share with him for ten long months. Lucifer had been beautiful once, and kind. They remembered him from the Garden. God’s favorite. His gentle protectiveness, his sweet smiles and the way he lit up for Beelzebub’s butterflies. Nothing of their sweet brother remained in the monster that held them down and sang his pain to the child that grew inside of them. The thing that ran gentle claws through their hair and praised their usefulness and their loyalty. That held them to him and ran his hands over their swollen belly, then lower as they tried to hide their tears.

“He took him away from me, my baby. He was beautiful, Gabriel. He looked...like Lucifer used to...before...and then Lucifer banished me back to the higher levels of Hell to prepare his armies.” Beelzebub felt their breakfast lurch upward. They forced their stomach to settle with a miracle. “I knew that Aziraphale and Crowley had the wrong child.”

“You did? And just let them continue?”

“Lucifer is very, very smart,” they said, miserably. “He knew that I didn’t want a war. Knew that I would have hunted the Antichrist down, and cut him down to avoid the war. But I couldn’t kill my own child. I watched, from a distance. In a variety of disguises. I helped him where I could.” They laughed, but their laugh was a humorless thing. “He needed very little help. He had a blessed life.”

“I...how did you manage on the airstrip?”

“I played my part, angel...My boy...he made me proud, but I’m sure I didn’t seem so.”

“You seemed pissed. What happened after? When you told Lucifer?”

“I was blamed, of course. He beat me. Said the boy took after me too much. Called me weak.” They sighed. “Hell is well-accustomed to seeing me bleeding and covered in bruises. I’m his second-in-command, which means first to be blamed. First to bleed,” they said. “I’m a healer. So I wear what he does to me for as long as I’m supposed to. Then I heal it up. Honestly, it’s been a deterrent against those who might want my position.”

“He’s still hurting you?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time?”

“Yesterday, when I brought him my findings on why the traitors survived their trial. He declared the war off, but I persisted. I assumed that your side was going to continue with preparations...or at least have a few rogue agents who decided to take matters into their own hands.”

“Did you want the war, or did you not, Beez?”

“I want peace. Unconditional, no more working against each other. Not a cease-fire, but the whole system dismantled!” They could feel the bite of their fingernails into their own flesh. “I want this. Us. Safe. Dagon, too.”

Gabriel was silent for a moment. He pulled Beelzebub into himself, stroking their hair. Beelzebub could tell that he was thinking. His hand wandered to their shoulder, working the tension out of them.

He hadn’t pushed them away, wasn’t disgusted. The sobs started to wrack them, and he just held them tighter. He began to hum a hymn, a very old one, sweet and light as he rocked them. It was a hymn to Mary.

Beelzebub clung to the lapels of his robe and wailed like their lost baby had, eleven years ago.

When they ran out of tears, Gabriel kissed the top of their head and whispered, “Hey, Beez?”

“Yes?”

“Have you got anything that would fire Holy Water? Because I have an idea.”

The two of them spent the rest of the day outlining the complete destruction of Heaven and Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did this come from?
> 
> My girlfriend: Hey, what if the reason that the angels have so few miracles and the demons have so much is because they're harvesting soul energy and there just aren't a lot of souls that make the cut and get into heaven?
> 
> Me: Ooo...that looks like something I can traumatize people with. How about adding in some agricultural death machines?
> 
> Girlfriend: Shiny! Do that thing!
> 
> So I did.
> 
> Thanks for reading. There will be a sequel. After I put at least ten more chapters on Sealed with a Kiss. I swear, it will be done.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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